The Snatch
by Kittystitch
Summary: Another kidnapping goes badly.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This story references Episode #2, "Breakout". If you haven't watched it for a while, you may want to refresh your memory on YouTube. Special thanks to chantellegg for the donation of her story concept as well the invaluable advice and insight. Your input made this a better story._

 **THE SNATCH**

Two weeks without a mission. Two weeks to rest and recover. Two weeks of getting enough sleep and enough to eat. Two weeks pain-free. Two weeks of pretending there's no war. Chief knew it couldn't last, but when Garrison summoned them to the map room, the sudden tight knot in his stomach surprised him.

Everyone else was already there, Garrison in the chair at the head of the table. Lunch was laid out - sandwiches, fruit and coffee. Probably their last substantial meal for a while. Chief took his seat next to Goniff, helped himself to an apple, and leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out, feigning a calm he didn't feel.

"Alright, guys, here's the deal." Garrison tossed the 8x10 glossy photo into the middle of the table, next to the plate of sandwiches. "This is Major Gregor Vogel. He's a Harvard-educated biochemist now working in the Nazis' chemical weapons program. And he wants to defect. We're going to help him do that."

Actor glanced at the face in the picture, then passed it to his left, to Casino. "That sounds easy enough. We just have to facilitate his escape out of the country."

"Yeah, well, it's not quite that simple."

"Of course not." Casino flipped the photo across the table to Goniff. "When is it ever that simple."

"Colonel Vogel has a teenage daughter at a finishing school in Italy. If the Nazis think he's defected, it puts her in danger. We have to make it look like we've kidnapped him."

"Well, why don't we just snatch the kid, too?"

"One mission at a time, Goniff."

"Come on, Warden. We can do both." Goniff handed the picture to Chief. "And maybe blow up a submarine base and off Hitler, too, while we're at it."

Chief studied the middle-aged officer staring confidently into the camera. He had intelligent eyes and was trying hard not to smile, looking more like he belonged in a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows than a Wehrmacht uniform. Chief tossed the picture back into the middle of the table. "So what's the plan, Warden?"

"We've known he's wanted out for some time, but because he works in Berlin, it's never really been feasible. He's attending a meeting in Oslo, and this is probably going to be our best shot. The trick is to make it public and dramatic enough that there's no question he's being taken against his will. Vogel knows we're going to make our move sometime during the week, but to keep it looking authentic, we're going to surprise him."

"And then we just drive out of Oslo with him, is that it? Like nobody's gonna try to stop us?" Casino reached for another sandwich, smiling a challenge at their commander.

Garrison returned his smile. "We pull a switch. We move Vogel to a second car while the first one leads any pursuers on a wild goose chase. Then we meet up and head for the harbor. With any luck, no one will follow us, and we'll just leave behind a lot of upset eye witnesses."

"Luck, you say." Casino rolled his eyes. "Oh man, do you want me to start listin' all the ways this could go wrong?"

"No, Casino, I don't. If you have a better plan, I'd like to hear that instead,"

Casino shrugged and mumbled, "If I come up with one, you'll be the first to know about it."

"Alright, if there are no other questions, finish lunch and get your gear together. We head out tonight."

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It was simply called Hagerestauranten, and if the rough, hand-painted sign hadn't been hanging over the door, you never would have known it was there. It was tucked in the middle of a quiet little street of shops several blocks from Nazi headquarters. Their contact said Vogel ate there every night. It was the only time he left the headquarters building.

From the passenger seat next to Chief, Garrison watched the restaurant through binoculars, wishing he had at least a little daylight. "That looks like him going in now. He has a couple of friends with him."

"Officers?" Actor asked from the back seat.

"Looks like it."

"Beautiful! There goes our clean break."

"Don't worry about it, Casino. We've got it covered. Remember, no collateral damage if we can help it. Not even the other officers. We need them to be witnesses."

He motioned Chief to pull the black sedan up in front of the restaurant, and they all climbed out. With silent gestures, he stationed Goniff outside by the door and Casino next to the car, with the motor running. Chief and Actor followed him inside, then spread out to his left and right. There were a dozen tables in the small, dim space, only three of which were occupied. He quickly spotted their target at the one in the far right corner, in an animated discussion with one of his companions. When the third officer looked up from his menu, Garrison's heart stopped. Colonel Mantfreeling.

To his right, Actor whispered. "Isn't he supposed to be dead?"

"Apparently he's not. But this doesn't change anything."

Sensing his commander's apprehension, Chief asked, "Who is he?"

"I'll explain later."

As they'd planned, they approached and surrounded the table, the waiter edging out of their way at the sight of the raised machine guns. While Actor and Chief trained their weapons on Mantfreeling and the other officer, Garrison grabbed Vogel by his collar and dragged him from his chair, pressing the muzzle of his pistol against his temple. "I'm sorry to interrupt your dinner, gentlemen, but we need the Major to come with us."

Under any other circumstances, Mantfreeling's expression would have been comical, but he didn't sit there with his mouth open for long. His face reddened and his eyes narrowed into slits. "You..."

Garrison nodded to him. "Nice to see you again, Colonel."

Vogel gave a quiet little gasp. He was either playing his part very well, or he was truly terrified. Garrison could feel him trembling under his grasp. Pulling the Major in front of him, he backed toward the door while Actor and Chief kept the others at bay. Once outside, he pushed Vogel toward the waiting car. Casino had the back door open, and Goniff helped him shove Vogel inside and to the floor. Only then did Actor and Chief make their exit. Chief jumped into the driver's seat and pulled the car away from the curb before all the doors were closed.

Casino turned to look out the rear window, trying not to step on Vogel, still huddled on the floor. "They're comin' after us, Warden. You can make book on it."

Only Actor thought to check on the Major. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I think so. That certainly was...exciting."

Garrison heard the squeal of tires in the distance and the roar of engines closing in on them. "Let's cut the chatter until we're out of here. Chief, remember, you don't want to lose them yet, just outdistance them."

"I know what I'm doin'."

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Chief skidded a tight left turn onto a main street, then another quick left into a narrow alley. Garrison, Actor and Goniff transferred Vogel into the back of the milk delivery truck in under 10 seconds, and with Casino now in the passenger seat beside him, Chief backed out quickly and continued the chase.

"Are they still back there?"

"Yeah, they just turned the corner," Casino said. "Man, I sure don't like being the decoy. Can you speed it up a little?"

"Yeah, time to lose these suckers." Chief floored the gas and swung another tight left turn, throwing Casino against the passenger door. How many times had he successfully outrun the cops in a stolen car? Enough to know that he enjoyed the speed, the thrill, and the challenge. But if he'd gotten caught any of the other times, it only meant jail time. Now it meant his life. And Casino's.

When he felt he'd gotten far enough away from their transfer point, and the Krauts were no longer in his rear view mirror, he chose another dark alley between buildings and pulled far off the street.

Casino grabbed his rifle from the front seat. "Sounds like we lost them."

Chief jumped from the driver's side and slung his rifle across his back. He listened for any sign of pursuit, but could hear none. "Maybe," was all he was willing to concede.

Together they sprinted to the far end of the alley, to a small side street, and swung a right.

Chief immediately collided with something waist high, hit the pavement shoulder first, and slid. When he rolled back to his feet, Casino was clutching a struggling boy by the arm, effortlessly lifting him off the ground like a rag doll. Casino set the boy on his feet, and he scurried back into the shadows of a recessed doorway, his dark eyes wide.

Chief wiped the gravel from his hands down his pants leg and picked up the sack the boy had been carrying. It held two loaves of bread and a tin can.

"Doin' a little light-fingered late-night shoppin', huh kid?" Casino grinned, snagging another can that had rolled into the gutter.

Taking the stray can from Casino and shoving it in with the rest, Chief held the sack out to the boy. He was no more than 10. An underfed 12 at best. His clothes hung from him in tatters, his dark hair was greasy and matted. But he snatched the sack from Chief's hand with a grim, defiant set to his shoulders.

Casino smacked Chief on the arm and started up the street. "C'mon, we gotta move."

The boy's wide dark eyes locked onto Chief's - eyes filled with anger, hunger, and fear. And determination. With the curfews and stiff penalties for stealing, this kid was playing a desperate, deadly game. But when you had that kind of hole in your belly, Chief knew curfews and cops were the last thing you thought about.

"Chief!"

The spell was broken, and he turned and ran after Casino, catching up to him at the next corner.

As they rounded the side of the building, the sound of a door crashing open and an angry shout sent them diving for cover into the nearest doorway. Chief's blade sprang to his hand, and he listened for the source of the sound. It was coming from the street they'd just left.

The shouting continued, becoming louder, enraged, and there was the sound of a scuffle. Then the distinctive whack of flesh striking flesh. A child's small voice cried out. An immediate second blow, and another sharp cry of pain.

The kid. Chief felt each blow, the memory of pain and terror as vivid as if it were yesterday. Quicker than thought, he was out of their hiding place, around the corner, and headed back toward the commotion. Behind him he heard Casino curse.

Chief grabbed the wrist of the short, fat man who was about to strike the boy a third time. Slamming him against the wall, Chief pressed his blade into the thick neck. "You wanna stop that, friend," he hissed.

The boy stumbled backward to the ground, dropping the sack, and stared up at him with those dark, distrusting eyes.

"Beat it, kid."

The boy sat frozen.

"Go on, get outta here!"

Grabbing his sack, the boy scrambled to his feet and evaporated into the shadows like a ghost.

Chief released his grip on the attacker, giving him another hard shove against the wall. "Pick on somebody your own size, got it?"

The fat little bully found his voice. "Hjelp! Behage hjelpe! Jeg er ranet!"

Suddenly they were no longer alone on the street. From the same shadows that had swallowed the boy, armed German soldiers materialized, weapons trained on him. He had not heard them approach. Cold, hard fear coiled in his stomach.

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As far as safe houses went, this was a nice one. The apartment was on the second floor of an older building near the harbor, maintained by a wealthy city official who secretly supported the partisan movement. It was small, but comfortably furnished, and well-stocked with food. Garrison had suggested Major Vogel use the bedroom to get some sleep before they had to paddle out to meet the sub, and he'd willing accepted. Actor had found something to read from the small but eclectic library, and Goniff was stretched out on the couch, nibbling on some cookies.

Garrison paced. The clock on the mantel struck 8 p.m., and he checked it against his watch. If they missed their rendezvous, they'd have to wait another two days. Not an acceptable option.

"Warden, will ya quit yer stalkin'? You're givin' me the willies," Goniff complained.

"They'll get here," Actor assured him. "They're probably being especially cautious."

"I hope so." 'Cautious' was not a word Garrison would have used to describe either Chief or Casino, but they were both skilled get-away artists, so he had to remind himself to trust their instincts. He paced another circuit of the room.

At the sudden sound of running in the hallway outside, Garrison pulled his side arm. Then came the three distinctive knocks that signaled 'friend'. He sighed in relief and unlocked the door. But only Casino rushed in, closing it behind him, and he collapsed against it, breathing hard.

Garrison's relief turned to dread. "Where's Chief?"

"They got him," Casino panted.

Goniff was on his feet. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. We left the car in an alley, but there was this kid, see, stealin' food, and some guy, like a shop owner or somethin', started wailin' on him..."

"Slow down," Garrison urged. "You're not making sense."

Casino straightened and looked Garrison in the eye. "Chief went back to save a kid who was gettin' the crap beat out of him. And the Krauts nabbed him. There were too many of 'em, Warden. I didn't have a chance..."

"It's okay, Casino. You did the right thing."

"I tried to follow 'em, ya know, to see where they took him. But I lost 'em." Casino slammed a fist back against the door. "Of all the stupid stunts! He got hisself captured for some lousy little shoplifter."

"They'll take him to headquarters," Major Vogel said quietly from the bedroom doorway. "There's a high-security prison there."

"And we're gonna go get 'im, right, Warden?"

"Yeah, we can't just leave him there," Casino agreed.

Garrison took a breath, tried to control his mounting fear, order his priorities. He needed more information. "Major, tell me about that prison."

Vogel scratched his head. "Well, the building used to be Oslo's police headquarters. The SS have reinforced the prisoner holding area and keep it heavily guarded. Colonel Mantfreeling is in charge." He looked up at Garrison questioningly. "You know Mantfreeling, don't you?"

"Yeah, we've met."

Vogel's eyes widened. "It was you. You're the one who kidnapped his son and destroyed the prison at Drammen."

Garrison nodded. Vogel was studying him as if trying to decide if he was a monster, someone who would sacrifice a child for the sake of a mission. "The boy was never really in danger," he tried to explain, but it sounded weak.

"Karl doesn't speak of the details, but I know he holds a terrible grudge. That incident ruined his career. He'll get what he wants from your man and then kill him."

"Chief won't talk." Casino pushed away from the door, pointing a threatening finger at Vogel.

"He may have no choice."

Garrison didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean 'no choice'?"

"We've been working on a new drug. A truth serum, if you will. We've only done limited testing on..." Vogel hesitated.

"On prisoners, right?" Actor finished for him.

"Among others." Vogel swallowed hard. "And the results have been promising."

"Chief's tougher than any of us," Casino insisted. "They won't get anything outta him, no matter what they do."

"Enough, Casino." Garrison gave him a warning wave, then turned back to Vogel. "How long do we have?"

"It's hard to say. It depends on whether they try the drug right away or start with...more conventional methods."

"C'mon, what's the plan, Warden?" Goniff pleaded.

Garrison leaned an arm on the mantel and rubbed his eyes, trying to banish the grim images forcing their way into his head. His priority had to be the mission, always the mission. He only had two options, and he didn't like either of them. They could definitely get Vogel to safety, but that would accomplish only part of the mission. Leaving Chief in the hands of the Nazis put Vogel's daughter in jeopardy.

Or they could risk total failure and try to save Chief before he was forced to talk. If they succeeded, they would accomplish the entire mission. But that was a big 'if'.

Garrison believed Casino was right. There was an unbreakable spirit and a fierce loyalty in Chief that, under physical torture, he would die to protect. But the drug presented a frightening new twist.

And then there was the memory that continued to haunt him. He'd left Chief behind once before, for the sake of a mission. He didn't think he could face that again. The team had started to crumble and he'd begun to doubt his own leadership abilities. It was like a vital piece of them had been ripped away, leaving a bloody hole. And he'd been unprepared for the grief. He'd lost men in combat before, and he'd mourned every one of them. But this was different. Maybe his superiors were right. He had become dangerously close to these men, and it was clouding his professional judgement.

Still, if there was any way to salvage the mission and save Chief, he had to risk it. He'd made a promise, to Chief and to himself, and he intended to keep it. He'd find some way to explain to his superiors. He came to a decision. He straightened and faced his men.

"You do have a plan, right, Warden?" The silence was making Goniff nervous. "Actor and me, we can go nick some uniforms..."

"That won't work this time. Mantfreeling already knows that game."

"We'll never break into that prison, Lieutenant," Actor warned.

Garrison took a deep breath, trying not to think of the implications of what he was about to say. "We don't have to break in. We give them Vogel in exchange."


	2. Chapter 2

They'd cuffed him and shoved him into the back of a truck with two surly guards who trained the muzzles of their rifles at his chest, and didn't move them an inch until the truck came to a stop. By then, Chief had made a decision. He knew his chances weren't good, but he wasn't giving in without a fight. Their first mistake was cuffing his hands in front of him.

While one guard lowered the tail gate and jumped down, the other prodded him to his feet with the rifle, then shoved him off the back of the truck. Chief managed to land on his feet, and immediately lunged for the first guard's weapon, fully expecting a bullet in the chest. Instead the guard punched him in the stomach with the rifle stock.

The air exploded from his lungs. He doubled over and fell to his knees, unable to draw a breath. When the butt slammed into the side of his face, stars exploded in his head, and blood spurted into his mouth. He sprawled on the ground, fighting the darkness that was closing in, expecting the third blow that would end it.

"Genug!" a stern shout commanded. The last blow never came, and the soldiers backed away. "Bringen Sie ihm diesen Weg."

One of the soldiers lifted him from the ground and started to drag him toward a doorway, but Chief gained his feet and yanked free of the grip. He could walk under his own steam. He let the soldier push him through the door and down a long, stark hallway.

The room they entered wasn't what he expected. It was some kind of laboratory. The walls were a serene blue, there was an examining table, a couple of chairs, and two glass fronted cabinets full of jars and vials. Pushed into a corner was a cart holding medical instruments and syringes.

This he was not prepared for. He could withstand the beatings, was even prepared for a firing squad. But he'd never thought about this kind of pain, had no idea what to expect. He fought down a wave of panic.

The guard released his cuffs and pushed him into one of the chairs, strapping him to it with tight leather bands, around his chest and each wrist. Through the door strode a tall, distinguished Colonel, who walked up to his chair and faced him squarely, with a smug smile. "Good evening, young man. I am Oberst Mantfreeling. And you are...?"

Chief returned the man's stare.

"I would like to be able to call you something," the officer quietly urged.

Chief remained silent. He knew the good cop/bad cop routine.

"Come, not even name, rank and serial number? I know you are one of Garrison's men."

This was one of the officers from the restaurant. How did he know Garrison? Then the name clicked. Mantfreeling. Chief realized he was in bigger trouble than he'd first thought.

"I see," the Colonel continued. "You have no rank or serial number because you are a spy. You know that I have every right to shoot you right here and now. But I really don't want to do that. Garrison has something I want, and you're going to help me get it back."

Chief spat blood in his face.

The guard raised his rifle butt, about to strike, but the Colonel stopped him with a sharp command. He pulled out his handkerchief and calmly wiped his face. "Alright, son, I see you choose to do this the hard way."

The Colonel pulled the cart up beside the chair. He took Chief's left sleeve and pushed it up past his elbow, then twisted his arm over. From the cart, he took one of the syringes, and pressed the needle into the exposed vein.

Panic rose in his throat like bile. He felt the sharp sting and tensed every muscle, pulling against the restraints, in a futile effort to block the yellowish liquid being forced into his vein. It turned to fire, burning up his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and swallowed the involuntary moan as the blaze reached his head and chest, blocking thought and breath.

Then the fire slowly burned out, fading away to a hazy tingle, a pleasant numbness, like he'd just finished off the rest of the Warden's Scotch. His heart slowed, his ears hummed, and he floated in the soft residual warmth.

A voice reached him from beyond the hum. "Can you tell me your name now?"

His name. What was his name? It came to him like a flash of lightening, and he spoke it aloud. It sounded strange, ringing in his ears.

The voice came again, quiet and muffled. "Why are you in Oslo?"

Oslo. Norway. It was hard to push through the confusion and make thoughts form. A job, a mission, a kidnapping...No!

Spikes of blinding hot pain lanced through his skull, shot down every nerve, crushed the air from his lungs. He needed it to stop, he needed the warmth back, the gentle tingle. He panted shallow breaths, and slowly he was again wrapped in the comforting relief.

"Can you tell me where Garrison is?" the quiet voice asked.

Garrison. The Warden. The team. They were at the safe house, near the harbor...No!

The pain took his breath away, made his heart pound against his ribs like a caged animal. He craved the warmth, the calm, the release...

"As soon as we're done here, we'll bring you something to eat," the gentle voice told him. "Then you may get a shower and go home."

Home. He couldn't remember home. But it didn't matter as long as he could hang onto the intoxication, the peace...his grandfather chanting the sacred hymn, his ancient, soft voice like the burble of the rills that form in the washes after a rain...the peyote tea bitter on his tongue, and the grassy fragrance of burning sage filling his head...he pulled the stained, ragged red wool blanket tighter around his shoulders and relaxed into the warm glow of the reassuring ritual...

"You know Garrison has left you here to die. There's no reason you should continue to protect him."

Chief shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but it only made him dizzy. From somewhere close by, Garrison said his name - his real name - and whispered, "It's alright, just hang on." But Garrison had left. It was his job - complete the mission. They were all gone, back to England, safe. There was no longer a reason to stay silent. He could end the blinding pain, and bring back the warm, comforting release. It was alright.

His own voice echoed in his ears, sounding like a stranger's coming from a distant room. The voice of a traitor, giving up precious secrets. And the voice continued to betray his friends until he finally shut it out, closed his eyes and drifted into the sheltering mist of the sage smoke. The traitor may have continued to talk, but he no longer knew or cared.

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Major Vogel had not been happy with his plan, but he'd reluctantly agreed. Garrison had tried to explain that it was the only way they had any chance of keeping his daughter safe. Now the Major sat quietly in the corner chair, probably wondering what kind of deadly madmen he'd gotten himself mixed up with.

The others were just glad there was a plan.

Garrison had sent Casino and Goniff to find a car, unnecessarily reminding them to be quick and be careful. And he'd called their contact to secure the materials they'd need and to make new escape arrangements. Then he sat on the sofa and stared at the phone, pulling his thoughts together for the hard part.

"Do you understand what you're doing?" Actor asked softly, from his chair next to the fireplace.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you considered all the consequences if your plan doesn't work?"

"It'll work." It had to work.

"I have never known you to jeopardize a mission, for any reason."

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Garrison leaned his elbows onto his knees. "The mission is already jeopardized. What do you want me to do, just leave him to the mercies of the Nazis?"

"I am merely playing devil's advocate. Your superiors will not be happy if you return with Chief instead of Vogel. Or worse yet, neither."

"Believe me, I've considered all the possibilities." He tapped a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table and lit it, pulling the smoke into his lungs with a calming breath. Then he picked up the receiver. "Major, do you have a number that Mantfreeling will answer?"

Vogel nodded solemnly, and Garrison dialed as the Major recited it.

The call was answered on the second ring. He told the clerk on the other end that he had important information that Oberst Mantfreeling needed immediately. After a brief wait, the call was transferred, and Mantfreeling picked up.

Garrison switched to English. "Colonel Mantfreeling, I have something you want, and I'm willing to make a deal."

There was a long pause, and Garrison began to wonder if he'd lost the connection, when the Colonel finally responded. "Lieutenant Garrison. How nice of you to call. We were just talking about you."

Garrison wasn't in the mood for a verbal sparring match. "A simple prisoner exchange, Colonel. Vogel for my man."

After another pause, Mantfreeling finally said, "You have my attention, Lieutenant. What exactly do you propose?"

"There's a park on Holtegata, with a road that bisects it, crossing a stream."

"I'm familiar with it."

"Midnight. On the bridge. You bring Chief from the west, and I'll bring Vogel from the east."

"This young man must mean a great deal to you, Lieutenant. You're willing to disobey orders and sacrifice your mission in order to save his life? If he's so valuable, maybe I shouldn't part with him. Perhaps he has more to tell me."

He wasn't going to fall for the bait. If Chief was still alive, he hadn't told them everything. "How important are Vogel and his work to you and your superiors, Colonel? Certainly more important than the life of a boy who doesn't know anything beyond the objectives of this one mission."

During the pause, Garrison could hear voices, others in the room with Mantfreeling. If they were his commanding officers, that could get complicated.

"Alright, Lieutenant, you have your deal. Midnight in Holtegata Park."

"I need proof of life first. I'm not going to walk into a trap."

"If you insist."

It sounded as if Mantfreeling held the receiver out into the room. The other voices became clearer, and one of them was Chief's. Garrison strained to listen. He thought he caught a word or two, but he couldn't be sure. It sounded like gibberish. Hoping that Chief might be able to hear him, he called his name. But he had to close his eyes and take a breath. He didn't want to imagine what damage Vogel's drug could do.

Mantfreeling came back on the line. "Satisfied? The young man and I have had a nice talk. I will see you at the park, Lieutenant. And please come alone."

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Consciousness returned in waves, like the rolling of a boat on a gentle tide. He didn't have to open his eyes to know where he was. Prison cells probably smelled the same everywhere. He took a slow inventory before he attempted to move. He was lying on a hard, damp floor. A jackhammer was pounding in the back of his skull. His diaphragm protested every breath. His mouth felt like flannel and tasted like blood. His stomach threatened to flip inside out. But he was alive. And he didn't know why.

He remembered the quiet questioning and the promise of sweet relief. He knew he'd told them everything. He'd willing told them everything. They should be done with him. He should be dead. He deserved to be dead. What were they waiting for?

Carefully he rolled to his side and pushed to his knees. The cell was small and windowless. The only light glared from the bare bulbs in the hallway through the small barred hole high in the door. He scooted up against the cinderblock wall, as far as he could get from the cell's only accommodation, a wooden bucket in the corner. Still, he breathed through his mouth, trying to avoid the stench of mold, vomit, and the untold numbers of men who had missed the bucket. He'd spent time in worse places, but that didn't make it any easier.

The waiting was the hardest part. The not knowing. He licked at the blood oozing from the split in his lower lip, and thought about the others. Garrison would have realized their position was compromised and vacated the safe house. They should be on a sub in the middle of the North Sea by now. And he thought about the Major's daughter, who would be pulled from her safe refuge and held hostage - or worse - because now, thanks to him, the Nazis knew her father was a traitor. He'd blown the whole caper because some dirty little punk was clumsy enough to get himself caught. There was no way in hell Garrison was going to waste any effort getting him out of this fortress.

Their commander had always made sure they understood they were expendable for the sake of the mission. And to Garrison, the mission was everything. It had to be. In his head, Chief could hear Casino and Goniff protesting, Actor adding his logical reasoning. But they'd never get past that fierce, hard determination that made Garrison the officer and intelligence agent they'd come to trust with their lives.

But some corner of his clouded mind drifted back months, to that moonless, cloudless night on the mansion's front steps, and the bottle of Scotch they'd finished off. The Warden had downed most of it. And he'd made a promise - that he'd never again leave a man behind. At the time, Chief believed Garrison truly meant it, but it was probably just the Scotch talking. When the occasion arose, in the harsh light of a mission gone bust, was it a promise the Warden would be able to keep? Given a choice, which promise would their sober, determined commander choose to honor? The one to the Army, or the one to his men?

Chief folded his arms across his knees and rested his forehead on them. With the tip of his tongue he massaged his cut lip, reigniting the sting and the coppery taste of blood. No, the waiting wasn't the hardest part. It was the hope.

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By the time the rendezvous time finally came, Garrison was ready, every possibility examined, every nerve alert, every sense heightened. They arrived early and sat in the car in the dark at the west end of the bridge. In the passenger seat next to him Vogel squirmed to get comfortable with his hands tied behind his back.

"I know this is hard, Major, but you have to trust my men. They're very good at this. Just remember that when the fireworks start, duck."

"I know." Vogel sighed and shifted sideways, so he wasn't leaning against his bound hands. "It's just that I'm a scientist. I'm not used to the...fireworks."

Garrison heard rather than saw the other cars approach the east end of the bridge, and then the headlights flared on, blinding him. He flicked on his own headlights, and the small stone bridge and surrounding thick foliage were illuminated like midday.

"Show time," he whispered, and he climbed out of the car, circled it, and pulled Vogel from the passenger door. Holding him firmly by the arm, Garrison marched him toward the bridge.

Mantfreeling had brought two cars and a half dozen men. They all exited the vehicles in a swarm, and Mantfreeling approached the bridge, flanked by two of the armed soldiers. One of them had a hold on Chief's shirt collar, a gun pressed to his head. In the harsh glare of the headlights, Garrison tried to assess what he was seeing. Though Chief's hands were bound behind him, he stood straight, head up, feet planted firmly apart, looking in control and defiant. Garrison released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"We meet again, Lieutenant, and under very similar circumstances."

"We all do what we have to, Colonel."

"And where are the others?"

"You told me to come alone. I did."

Turning to the other four soldiers, Mantfreeling gestured toward the surrounding woodland and gave a terse order. Garrison didn't quite hear it, but he knew the soldiers were going to search the area.

"You don't trust me, Colonel." Garrison feigned disappointment.

"As you say, we all do what we have to." Mantfreeling smiled, then spoke to Vogel. "Sind Sie gut, Gregor?"

"Ja, mir geht es gut, Karl."

Garrison needed the same reassurance. "Chief, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Chief would say that even if he were on the brink of death, but just hearing his voice was a relief.

"Once my men have verified that you are truly alone, we can send our prisoners across the bridge simultaneously. Is that suitable?" Mantfreeling sounded like he was negotiating a legal contract instead of determining the the fate of two human beings.

While they waited, Garrison watched Chief. He thought he saw him stagger slightly, held upright by his guard, but he wasn't sure. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen fast, and he needed Chief to be able to react.

All four soldiers emerged from the dense growth on either side of the path, shaking their heads, and reported softly to the the Colonel. Garrison suppressed a smile. His men were very good.

"Now, Lieutenant." Mantfreeling motioned to Chief's guard to bring him forward, where he released his cuffs.

As Garrison untied Vogel's hands, he whispered one last time, "Remember, hit the deck."

Chief started slowly across the bridge, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had chafed, and glanced only briefly at Vogel as they passed each other in the middle. As Chief reached the end of the bridge, Garrison rushed forward to meet him, catching him as he stumbled. He helped Chief back to the car, letting him lean against it.

"Warden, you didn't..."

"No, I didn't. Wait for it..."

They both watched as Mantfreeling ushered Vogel into the back of the first car, then the Colonel turned and saluted them across the empty bridge. "Maybe we'll meet again sometime, Lieutenant, under happier circumstances." He climbed into the car next to Vogel, and the soldier who had been holding Chief got into the driver's seat.

The remaining soldiers backed cautiously away, guns still trained in their direction, but then climbed quickly into the second car, and the engine roared to life.

The sudden explosion made them both flinch, as the second car disintegrated in a ball of flame. From out of the burning undergrowth on either side of the path, Casino, Actor and Goniff surrounded Mantfreeling's car, the one that hadn't blown apart in a fire ball. The driver threw the door open, rifle coming to bear, but Casino's barrage never let him get off a shot.

Actor and Goniff pulled open the two back doors, and while Goniff helped Vogel up off the floor of the back seat, Actor pulled Mantfreeling from the other side, quickly disarmed him, bound his hands behind him, and left him sitting in the dirt.

Garrison watched his team trot across the bridge toward him and marveled at whatever alchemy had turned this collection of misfits and loners into a coordinated team. He knew he'd done his part, but it was something far beyond anything he could have taught them.

For the benefit of Mantfreeling, who was glaring at them from where he sat on the path on the other side of the bridge, Goniff manhandled Vogel into the back of the car. Casino and Actor gathered around Chief, where he still leaned against the passenger side door.

"You okay, babe?" Casino punched him on the arm.

"How do you feel?" Actor asked.

"Later, guys," Garrison admonished. "We need to get moving. Chief, you ready to go home?"

"Home sounds good, Warden." Chief straightened, pushed himself unsteadily away from the car, then fell to his knees and threw up.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Garrison leaned against the desk in the sub's tiny sickbay and tried to ignore the odor of antiseptic and diesel fumes, but it always gave him a headache. He could only imagine what it was doing to Chief. His scout sat on the gurney, resigned to being poked and prodded by the young corpsman. His dark eyes looked even darker with the pupils dilated by the drug.

"Nothing seems to be broken," the corpsman told him, handing Chief a large glass of water. "Think you can keep this down?"

Chief accepted the glass with both hands and sipped at it.

"Whatever god-awful poison they pumped into you should clear out in a day or two. But if you have anymore symptoms, make sure to see a real doc, okay?"

Chief nodded carefully, as if it hurt his head.

"And if you can find some ice to put on that bruise and your lip, it should help the swelling," the corpsman added as he headed out the door.

"Thank you, Corporal." Garrison gave the corpsman a brief salute. When he turned back, Chief was staring at him. "How's the stomach?"

"That was a stupid stunt."

Garrison smiled. "You're welcome."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks. But you gambled the whole damn mission. And for what? Me? I ain't worth it, Warden."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Chief dropped his head and set the glass of water next to him on the gurney. "You need to know..." He rubbed at a spot of blood on his pants leg, studied the rivets in the metal decking, and the duty roster on the wall to his left, everything but look Garrison in the eye. "I told them everything. I don't remember much, but I'm sure I did. Names, places, everything I could think of."

"It's alright. That was a pretty powerful drug. None of us could have withstood it for long."

"People are gonna die because I couldn't let a pipsqueak thief get the beatin' he deserved." Chief paused, as if really thinking about this for the first time, then looked him directly and defiantly in the eye. "But I'd do it again. In a heartbeat."

Garrison met his challenging stare with a smile. "I guess some stupid stunts are necessary, huh?"

"It's not the same thing."

Garrison pushed away from the desk. "Look, first of all...and don't take this the wrong way...you really don't know enough to endanger anybody's life."

"What about the girl? I'm sure I told 'em Vogel's a turncoat."

"Plans are already in the works to get her out of Italy."

"The safe house..."

"Already out of commission."

"The contact, Nils..."

"Not his real name." Garrison realized that Chief was determined to beat himself up over this, and it was time to put an end to it. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think they can use anything you told them anyway."

Chief's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"When I called Mantfreeling to make the deal, I asked him to prove to me that you were still alive. And he held the phone out so I could hear you. If I couldn't understand what you were saying, he certainly couldn't."

Chief still looked puzzled.

"It was Diné. You were speaking Navajo."


End file.
